Intro - POV: Angela

"Angela!" Hamilton greeted me joyfully. "Just the girl I wanted to see!"

"Would that be why you waited for me to come out of my house?" I remarked. Hamilton always surprised me outside of the house when there was something going on the next day, like a festival. Either that, or he wanted to tell me something.

"Ah! Always the kidder, Angie." Angie? Who told him he could call me Angie? "So glad it was a gal with a good sense of humor that moved in and took this plot!" He patted me on the arm. Hamilton was one of those adults that thought he was twenty or thirty years younger than he actually was. "So anyway, Angela, I came down here to talk about the upcoming Firefly Festival."

"Oh?" I asked.

"The fireflies come out one day a year. It's tradition around here to take a date and watch the fireflies. Angela... do you have someone you'd like to watch the fireflies with?"

I blushed, "Well... sorta..." Wait, what was he doing, asking? It's none of his business! But I didn't want to be rude, so I didn't say anything.

"Well, ask him, don't be shy! Or her, if you're into that sorta thing. I won't judge."

"Oh, no, it's a boy... you know, not that there's anything wrong with that, uh, the whole gay thing, you know, it's... perfectly fine, it's just not my thing."

"Well, the festival is tomorrow, so ask someone today! I'll let you get to your chores."

"Alright, bye." I waved him off and shut the door. The firefly festival, hm? How romantic.

The perfect opportunity to ask out Chase.

------

Ten o'clock. I was done with my chores, I'd finished everything, I'd put on the pretty yellow dress again. And here I stood in front of the bar, yet again. But this time, I just opened the door quietly, like a normal person, and sat down at the bar. "Hi, Chase," I piped up.

"Oh, hey Angela."

"Too busy to chat still?"

"Well, it is a slower night, I suppose I could spare a word."

"Great," I said. I drummed my fingers on the bar. "Uh, so..."

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"I..." My stomach rose into my chest. My heart beat twice as fast. I couldn't do it. Maybe I just needed a little more courage. "I'd like a blueberry cocktail."

Chapter 7 - POV: Chase

It was a slower night than usual. Not that it was ever fast; there weren't that many people on the island. I was finishing the last flip of the mayor's omelette when Angela came in and sat down. "Hi, Chase," she said. She sounded a little nervous.

I turned and took a glance at her. "Oh, hey Angela."

"Too busy to chat still?"

I supposed I couldn't be standoffish forever. I'd have to talk sometime. "Well, it's a slower night, I suppose I could spare a word."

"Great," she said. The silence after was awkward, and she started to tap her fingers on the bar. "Uh, so..."

"Yeah?" She wanted to say something, I could tell. Was it about the Firefly Festival? Please, let it be about the Firefly Festival.

"I... I'd like to order a blueberry cocktail."

"You drink?"

"Not very often..." she admitted. "But I'd like to see how the cocktails here are. I hear they're good."

"Well, I'm legally compelled to ask... how old are you?"

"Twenty," she said. She was lying. Gill told me the other day that she was eighteen.

"Well, mayor says the drinking age is nineteen, so... I suppose we can sell you a cocktail." I wasn't about to argue with her. Frankly, I didn't agree with the drinking age. It's not a big island. If someone wants to drink, they should be able to drink. I signaled to Kathy. "Blueberry cocktail over here."

Kathy came bounding over. "For who?" I pointed to Angela. "Is she even nineteen?"

"She says she's twenty."

"She doesn't look twenty..." Kathy tilted her head from side to side. "She hardly looks a day over eighteen."

"Well, what are we going to do, card her?"

"Card her?" Kathy asked.

Working in restaurants in big cities, everyone was carded, especially people like Angela who looked young. But Waffle Island didn't even have ID cards. I sometimes forgot how simple island life was. "Ask for her ID."

"Oh, do people carry identification everywhere in your fancy city life?"

"Yeah, they do."

"Well, we've got to believe her, I guess," she said, filling the mixer with frozen blueberries and margarita mix. I went back to the omelette, now finished, and unloaded it onto a plate. "Here you are, erm, Angela, right?" Kathy said to Angela as she set down the cocktail.

"Take this to the mayor," I told Kathy, giving her the omelette. I took a couple of steps over and leaned back on the shelf opposite the bar. "So... what's up?" I asked Angela.

"Nothing much," she said, elegantly sipping her drink and examining the small, glass wine glass charm shaped like a bluemist flower. "Where did you get this little thing?" she asked.

"The wine glass charm?" I clarified. She nodded. "They were a birthday gift from Mira to Hayden. She made them herself."

"It's beautiful. She must be very talented."

"She is. She makes jewelry at the accessory shop, but since her husband died she hasn't had the motivation. She just hangs around the graveyard all day."

"Oh... how sad..." she said wistfully, taking another drink. The glass was half-empty by now. "Hey, Chase..."

"Yes?"

"Uh, when I was sick the other day, and Gill brought me that soup... did you make that?"

"Yeah."

"It was really good." She smiled, a tiny smile that seemed to light up her sharp, brown eyes. "Thanks. I've got to be honest, you know... I thought I'd annoyed you, you know... you didn't seem to wanna talk to me."

"Well, I was busy... I don't like to talk when I'm busy. Actually I don't really like to talk at all, but..." You idiot, Chase. You hardly know her. Don't let her know she's special. "I don't know, I guess I'm in a good mood tonight."

"Oh... well, that's good." She was blushing and looking into her empty glass. "Hey, uh..."

"Oh, do you want a refill?" I asked.

"Yeah... yeah."

I nodded and took her glass over to the mixer. Three parts frozen blueberry, two parts margarita mix. I brought the glass back to her. "How do you like it?" I asked.

"'S taste. Doesn' taste like pure ethanol like most cocktails." Like most cocktails? How often did she drink? Was this a woman who went on underage benders once a week? What was I getting myself into?

"Well, we don't use syrups, we use actual fruit. So the flavor's a lot stronger. The alcohol's a lot stronger, too, without all the chemicals to displace it, so... you probably shouldn't drink too much, especially since you're so small."

"What, you don' truss my judgmen'?" she said. Her speech was already slurred. Her glass wasn't even empty. I suppose she didn't drink much, or she would have a higher tolerance. I felt oddly relieved, though I couldn't figure out why it mattered to me. She took another swig, finishing the drink off. "I'll stop when I'm done, 'kay? 'S got nothin' to do with you." Wow, it took to her fast. "'N' I'm not done! C'n I 'ave another refill over here?"

"Uh, Angela, I really don't think you should," I told her. "You're getting a little loopy as it is, and you've barely had time to ingest the alcohol."

"Nons'nse! These're delicious! Get me another one!"

Against my better judgment, I went to the mixer and loaded it up again. I poured the cold, almost slushy blue mixture into Angela's glass. "I really don't think you should drink much more, Angela. You do have to get home."

"Eh, I feel fine," she insisted, taking a swig from the glass.

"If you insist..."

"So, Chase," she started.

"...Yeah?"

"There's this festival. Summin' 'bout bugs, or fire, or sumthin'."

"The Firefly Festival?"

"Yeah... yeah. Firefly Festival. 'N' uh... I kinda like you, y'know?" Was she about to ask me out drunk? "So I ws wonderin'... d'you, uh... d'you wanna go with me?"

"I..." It didn't seem right. I may have the low moral standard to let an eighteen-year-old get drunk off her ass, but I wasn't about to take advantage of her drunken state. Maybe it was the only way she could get up the courage, but it still didn't feel right. As much as I wanted to say yes to her, I couldn't do it. What if she didn't remember tomorrow, and I showed up to take her out and she didn't know what was going on? "I can't."

"What? Oh, d... don' tell me, izz that bell-butt ginger bitch over there, isn' it?"

"Well, no, not at all..." I wouldn't be caught dead watching fireflies with Maya.

"Oh yeah? Well... well maybe iz that Kathy girl, huh? She... she's gotta be the town wench or something."

Who says wench anymore? I glanced out at the restaurant and saw Kathy, mouth agape. "Sorry, Angela, I just can't."

"Oh, well, fine!" she shouted, taking another swig from her glass. "I don' need a date, eh? I... I like solitude. 'Nother cocktail!" She banged her glass on the bar.

"Angela, I'm not getting you another drink. Are you even okay to get home?"

"Oh, I'm fine! What, d'you want me ta leave? 'Cause... 'cause I'll leave, if that's whatcha want. But 'f'yer not gonna kick me out I wanna refill."

"Then I'll have to ask you to leave," I said. It broke my heart to kick her out, but I couldn't stand by and watch her swig down glass after glass of substances she wasn't even legally supposed to have.

"Well FINE!" she yelled. "I'm outta here." She swiveled the barstool around and jumped off, having to regain her balance as she tottered off toward the door.

I have to admit, I was worried about her. As I watched her dizzily stumble toward the door, I thought about what had just happened. Angela always seemed so... demure, so quiet. And she was so shy today, before she started drinking. She became a completely different person. It was frightening. I leaned again on the shelves, crossed my arms, and sighed as I watched her fall through the door. "That was weird," Kathy commented from beside me.

I jumped, startled. "Yeah... scary, even."

"You think she meant that?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure she doesn't think you're a whore. She doesn't even know you."

"No, no, not that!" she said, shaking her head. She did that when I was being naive. Was I being naive? I didn't think I was being naive. She turned her head toward me. "She said she liked you."

I looked away. "Maybe..."

"Chase..." I flicked a glance at her. She was smiling. "You like her, don't you?"

When she wasn't a belligerent monster. "No..." I lied. "I'm just worried, is all."

--

I don't think I've done an author's note on this fic yet.

So... there's your alcohol reference and mild language.

I'm afraid this chapter might have gotten a little Seinfeldian (then again, my writing tends to do that), but I didn't want to say "Angela drank for 20 minutes and then she was totally hammered." It's just not elegant.

Keep up the reviews, guys. :] I need the encouragement and I always want my writing to get better, so if you have any criticism... let me have it.